


Distance

by Cawerkuu



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Angst, Broken Promises, Crying, Depressed Dan Howell, Depression, Drinking, Emotional Hurt, Everything Hurts, Heavy Angst, Hurt Dan Howell, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Rants, References to Depression, Rejection, Sad Dan Howell, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-10
Updated: 2019-03-10
Packaged: 2019-11-15 04:46:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18066833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cawerkuu/pseuds/Cawerkuu
Summary: something i made to vent abt a problem irl of my own





	Distance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [the girl who keeps breaking me and doesnt even see it](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=the+girl+who+keeps+breaking+me+and+doesnt+even+see+it).



> something i made to vent abt a problem irl of my own

Dan breathed in, slowly letting the crisp, cold air of the winter night enter his lungs. He felt numb all over and yet annoyingly in pain at the same time. His face had grew numb after standing a little under half an hour in the coldness of the city, letting himself become victim to the violent winds and bitter temperature. He wasn't so sure he could feel his fingers despite constantly flexing and unflexing them into a fist, dragging the sleeves of his oversized hoodie over them to try and revoke warmth in them. 

He wasn't sure what he was thinking. All he knew was that he had a bottle of Jack Daniel's in one hand and his phone in his other, the screen glowing as a mortifying reminder of all that is lost to him. He wasn't sure why he thought he could make things better by spending the last little money in his wallet on some alcohol would somehow comfort him.

Alcohol was suppose to make everything go away. It's suppose to make everything light and fuzzy and the world should just fuck off when you're drunk. That's it's fucking job.

"You're fired," He glared at the brown, baggy paper wrapped around the base of the bottle. Was he talking to it or himself? He wasn't really sure. 

All he really knew was that he wanted to feel numb. He wanted that fuzziness and warmth to wash away everything bad from him. He wants to forget the last six hours of his life. He wants the memories of how everything he ever knew was suddenly ripped away from him without warning with just one statement for just a little while. Can't he just have that? Just a little?

Phil Lester is calling....

"Shut up," He glared down at the stupid screen buzzing within his frail fingers. God, he felt sick to his stomach. Was it the booze or the mention of the bastard? 

No, he wasn't a bastard.

But he was a jerk. That was for sure.

An alley way looked nice for a good rest. He placed himself against the brick-built outer layout of whatever building it was and slowly slid down the wall, not caring that his hoodie was getting dirty or that it ridden up to wear the chilling air was starting to make the normally tan skin turned blue. 

Maybe it be for the best if all of his skin was blue.

Death sounded nice right about now.

Crash! The bottle made a wonderful fulfilling breaking down when impacted to the wall across from him, the brown shards being thrown aray from each other while the booze was slowly sipped by the gravel below. Dan looked longingly at the glass, how nice and sharp it looked. 

"Bad Dan," He muttered, looking down at his wrist where one faint, tiny scar was left from the past times of his unfortunate coping mechanism. He squeezed his eyes closed, trying to ignore the crushing pang in his chest. He grabbed the front of his legs, pulling it against his chest tightly, shaking with a want; a disgusting one. 

"Dan, I'm here for you," He remembers Phil holding him from behind, talking him out of the harmful addiction. He gently pressed a kiss against Dan's head, breathing in his scent. His skilled fingertips skimming past the not-so faded scars and gently gripping Dan's tremblinh fingers where the razor was about to fall from how scared his own mind was. Phil gently pried the weapon from Dan's nimble fingers, whispering sweet encourages and praises. "It's okay, everything is going to be alright now. Okay? Just breathe for me. Look, you're doing so well. You're so strong. You've got this, Bear."

Dan scoffed at the memory, shooting his feet out at the glass, not caring if he got cut or not. He roughly grabbed at the gravel for some source of grounding himself, ripping the palms of his hand at how hard he slammed his hand against the rubble below him. He seethed, his breath growing ragged as the tears formed and came trickling down his sickly pale cheeks. 

How long had he been out here again? Seven? Eight? Six hours? He didn't give a flying fuck anymore. It was all too much for him. 

Phil Lester has sent twenty-seven text messages

Fuck you, was all Dan could think at that notification. He was so tired. So done with everything thrown at him. He was just over it at this point. He didn't give a damn that his skin was pierced and blood was leaking from the cut that was bounded to get infected surroinded in the alley way dirt that was riddled with who-knows-what as he grabbed onto a shard tightly. 

He pressed it against a pumping blue vein, clear and obvious in the winter night. The feeling making something familiar and long forgotten rush through him again. He squeezed his eyes closed, more tears littering his cheeks and dotting his dark hoodie as he pressed it down harder and...

He sighed, letting go off the shard and watching it fall to the ground pathetically. What was he doing? Was he seriously breaking a promise over that? 

"I don't want people thinking we're together, Dan,"

Dan cried pathetically on the cold floor of a dirty street that was riddled with places to buy drugs and booze and get sex long has you had some cash on you. He whimpered and sobbed and choked and cried, shaking and trembling in the arms of the bitter nights temperature.

Phil Lester is calling...

He grabbed ahold of the phone, yanking his hand backward and throwing it against the wall. He didn't even care that it cracked, breaking different parts of it away. He didn't even care to feel relieved anymore. He didn't want or yearned to care anymore.

He just wanted to be numb.

He found himself resigning to sleeping on a cold, rough floor of an alley way where some horrible person could come across him and kill him if they so chose because there's no fucking away he's going back to that place where he is. 

It was hard to breathe. It was this weight on his chest and with each unwavering moment, someone was pressing it harder and deeper on his chest. It made his breath hitch, pain gasps escape him, and pathetic cries come whaling out of him.

Fuck, he just wanted to die.

-x-

When he came back to their shared flat, he didn't speak to Phil. He made sure to not to look into those big blue orbs of his, the ones that always made him weak with the clear emotion they were. He didn't want to give in and forgive Phil right away like he always did. He was mad, upset, and practically broken like he was back when he was naive and foolish about the world a few years back. 

"Dan! There you are, where have you been?! Oh my god, you look like you've been run over by a truck!" His best friend said, probably his expression scrunched up in concern. Dan refused to meet his gaze. 

'Gee thanks,' He thought bitterly, refusing to voice his thoughts. That would only make things worse really.

"I tried texting and calling you, Dan! What happened? Did you phone die?" 

'No, I broke it because you kept fucking doing that.' He thought again, looking down at his palm. He gently grazed the red and torn-up skin of his hands. That's probably going to hurt. 

"Hey, Dan, what's the matter? What's wrong?" Phil asked, gently laying a hand on his shoulder, making Dan jolt away from his touch. If Dan had been looking at him, he would have seen the way Phil's eyes went wide with shock but he didn't have to, his gasp let him know the shock running through the elder. Not that he gave a fuck anymore. Not after that bullshit he pulled. "I'm your best friend, you can tell me..."

Dan shook his head, lifting his gaze to glare at Phil. "You were my best friend, fuck off Phil." 

"Wha-" Phil gaped, his expression screamed bafflement. Dan almost barked out a laugh right there because he looked like he fucking saw a corpse right then and there. But he didn't, instead he walked past him - purposefully bumping the sides of their bodies roughly - and to his room, slamming and locking the door behind him. No room for further discussion.

God, his chest fucking hurts. 

He feels horrible and he knows he's being horrible. Phil is allowed to not want people to think they're together or want them to be less 'haha theyre so married' or whatever the fuck people say now about them. He's allowed that. It isn't against the law and it certainly isn't some forbidden sin. 

So why does Dan feel like shit when he said that to him?

He doesn't really know. He wished he had an answer.

He had enough money on standby to buy a phone from their phone company. He just happened to walk in and pick it up, he promised to contact them later about moving the stuff from his old one to his new one. He didn't really care right now. He just put in his headphone plug into the jack, clicking onto the YouTube app to search for a certain song that would make him feel a little more at ease knowing someone else knew what it felt like to feel so shitty and their chest to feel so in pain yet it was all emotions and not actual chest problems.

You can have the toaster and the PC, He smiled as Thomas Sander's voice filled his ears along with the strumming of the ukalee and carefully picked higher piano notes. He enjoyed listening to 'The Things We Used To Share' at times like these, when someone has just twisted and ruined his heart so much it feels like an empty hole has just been left in their wake. He knows Phil is a fan of his and Thomas is a fan of theirs, coming to their show and Dan can't say he doesn't enjoy the content the man creates, especially when it comes to musically. Or my Timothy Green DVD. I'll let you have the couch and the TV. 

Hang onto the jacket you bought for me, That reminds him. He shouldn't have worn this stupid jacket. He groans, not realizing and throws it off onto the floor. He hopes hell itself opens up frim his floorboards and its eats it alive. I don't really care, you can keep the things we used to share but what did you do with my heart? 

What did you do with my heart? No more fireworks, no more compass, you didn't leave a single butterfly in my stomach. Dan sighed, rolling in his bed on the side. He wish he didn't relate to such an emptiness. You took my spyglass, not knowing what lies ahead. Took my warmth at night, left a dent in my bed. 

He did feel cold and lonely. He basically lost his best friend and sure that was his own fault but hey, it hurts. He's not sure why it hurt so much when Phil explained to him that it felt weird for people to joke about them like that but whatever, right? It didn't matter anymore. They were over anyways.

I don't really care. You can keep the things we used to share but what did you do with my heart? Dan tried to breathe, tried to feel alive, tried to feel normal again but he guessed that was just a dreamy hope. One that wouldn't become real. He just felt so empty, it hurt. What did you do with my heart?

Stripped me of my pride, that's for the best but you've also deprived of a full night's rest. What time was it? Twelve? Three? Was in the morning or afternoon? He couldn't be bothered to remember anymore. So no more dreams where we pull through and I can't collect my thoughts because they're still with you.

I don't really care. You can keep the things we used to share but what did you do with my heart? What did you do with my heart? Dan closed his eyes, breathing in slowly. He squeezed his eyes tight, trying to ignore the emptiness eating away at him. He listened to little 'do-do's of Thomas's for the next few moments before the main lyrics came back on, more softer than before and oh so relatable.

I wouldn't take it back even though I feel sore...I meant what I said, "What's mine is yours." Dan stared at the phone blankly, his eyes probably glazing over with a certain wetness he doesn't want to recozinge right now. But I need to know now that we're apart, what did you do...

I need to know now that we're apart! What did you do with my heart? Thomas' voice grew more emotional and he could hear the pain and the heartbreak in the man's vocals as he sung. God, hearts suck man. 

What did you do with my heart?

Dan wished he knew the answer to that one but sadly, he doesn't. He's not sure if he ever will. He's not even sure if he wants to know the answer for sure.


End file.
